


Spectral Eyes, Dour Smiles

by Mindbottled



Category: Pretty In Pink (1986)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25155568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mindbottled/pseuds/Mindbottled
Summary: All that is left is crumbling debris and broken dreams
Relationships: Steff McKee/Andie Walsh
Kudos: 10





	Spectral Eyes, Dour Smiles

**Author's Note:**

> Re-upload, with a few tweaks.

This isn't love, it's an obsession.

The thought strikes her like a heavy-handed blow and it's almost enough for her to pull her keys out of the ignition and go back inside, resuming another night of restless sleep.  
Almost, but not quite.

After nearly sputtering out, the engine roars back to life, the familiar, rumbling purr soothing her frayed nerves. The years have taken their toll and it won’t be long before it gives way to rust, but the idea of parting with her beloved pink car makes her stomach fill with dread. It’s foolish of her to think that this will remain a constant in the chaos she calls life, but it did nothing to stop her from clinging on; the only things she has left these days are hope and dwindling dreams.

The winding pathways are familiar, shifting and narrowing with every curve, and if she just looks at the asphalt, she can pretend things have never changed; the city is still full of life and the shops are buzzing with activity, the raucous laughter of youth filling the spaces in between.

The little yellow slip above Trax catches her gaze and her knuckles turn white as she veers the car around, ignoring the heat beginning to pool around her eyes.  


Everywhere she turns to is another reminder that time waits for no one; all the condemned buildings surrounding her are shrouded with melancholy and regret. The debris begins to lessen as she travels further away from the urban dwellings that riddle her memories and towards the area that haunts her dreams; perhaps, there's a chance that it's still standing tall and proud among the decay.  


She slowly parks the car along the side of the road, barely daring to chance a look at it; what she finally does see is terrifying.

The once beautiful colonial home is now only a phantom of its former glory. The pristine onyx tiles that once dotted the roof are crumbling, many patches missing them all together, as they are drawn further into the gaping maw of the home. The oak railings that lined the entrance are rotting, sections haphazardly rising to the heavens before plummeting at the gates, only to land among snarls of briars. Indeed, the once-manicured lawn seems to consist of nothing but thorns and invasive species, whips of ragweed creeping over the heights. The young girl inside her looks on with eyes of mourning, languishing every crack, every splinter; the woman she has become only sees the decay of the inevitable.

Even armed with the knowledge of the present, nothing can ease the dull, encompassing ache that is creeping its way into her chest.

Her hand trembles as she gropes for the shift before she pauses, catching sight of something faint and glowing out of the corner of her eye; towards the house, there's flickering spark, fading into the night. Her hands settle back onto the steering wheel as she peers out of the window, eyes narrowed and alert; she can just barely make out a silhouette, curtained underneath the sagging terrace.The burnt sienna rises and falls against the darkness, in a dull, monotonous pattern; the image strikes her as a firefly, abandoned from the glow of summer and left alone in the twilight of winter.  


The life of the ember is snuffed away and a man steps out of the shadows, his walk no longer a jaunty swagger she once knew; his stance is now firm and solemn, a funeral march to the mausoleum he inhabits. The moon highlights his silhouette, disarming her; aside from a few weathered lines, he looks almost identical to his former self.

She had almost forgotten that he once lived there, all those years ago, back when the house was still full of life and splendor. She would think that he would be thrilled to see the decline; after all, he had been watching its descent from the wings, basking in the afterglow of lust and bourbon, the ruler of a lascivious hive of hormones and chaos.

Her heart stops when those hardened, glacial orbs catch her own, illuminated only by the pale light of the moon.

There are no formalities, no wooden stares, no sneers, just a quiet moment of understanding; they're the last two people left invested in this small town and soon there will be nothing left. They are the last stalwarts, orphans of a dying dream. He breaks her gaze, flicking the ashen remnants of his cigarette onto the ground and for once, she thinks, she may have been wrong about him.

While it may have been destructive, he too, loved this house in his own way.


End file.
